God of Moulin Rouge
by Spyre
Summary: Satine's the writer. Christian is... less innocent, shall we say? Christian/Satine.


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NOTE TO ALL READERS:

THIS FANFIC HAS NO FORESEEN UPDATE. IT IS INDEFINITELY INCOMPLETE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

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Disclaimer: Satine, Christian and the Moulin Rouge aren't mine.

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Rating: PG-13

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Genre: Drama/Romance

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Summary: A young writer has just moved into the bohemian part of town, and a courtesan steals their heart and their breath. Complete role reversal for Satine and Christian. Christian's affliction is different, however, than Satine's is in the movie.

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**The God of Moulin Rouge**  
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The flashes of colour and overwhelming perfumes of sex and alcohol flooded her senses to say the least. She was barely aware of the little man, urging her forward through the throng of bodies and costumes. Prostitutes sent legs in high kicks, baring young flesh for sale.  
  
The ring leader of it all, the owner of the Moulin Rouge, was just wrapping up a grotesque dance move when, without warning everything went dark, the music stopped and voices hushed away on a mysterious breeze. A spotlight the size of her apartment burned without remorse in an undulating, golden caress as it crashed into a wall of red velvet curtains gracing a simple stage and catwalk.  
  
With all the prowess of a predator and allure of the meaning of life, the heavy fabric parted just enough to allow a figure to emerge into the blinding light. The measured click, click, click of his shoes punctuated the engulfing silence. Satine's eyes grew wide and her heart struggled against the ladder of ribs in her chest as she absorbed the god on stage.  
  
Supernaturally silver-green eyes pierced the audience in a seeking, hunting peer, sweeping over top hats and extravagant hair. Single, fine, black lines traced the edges of those searing peepers, extending out at the corners in a feline fashion. He then tucked his chin minutely downward as if coiling for the strike. The midnight blue, silk shirt was opened to reveal warm flesh and went untucked over black slacks held in place by a slick black leather belt.  
  
The stance he adopted was breathtaking and then came his voice, a voice that fastened, clung and commanded attention without question.  
  
"My gift is my song…" a pause after the lilting lyrics. There were some distant cheers as people recognized their favorite tune of his, then quiet as he went on in his song, moving down the stage like liquid, slow as coming twilight, matching the sex of his ballad, sultry voice etching innuendo behind those words, "And this one's for you…" almost a whisper… ending in a sandpaper confession. "And you can tell everybody… that this is your song…" -- mischief and desire poured from those haunting eyes as they continued to roam, searching and teasing with pauses, "It may be quite simple, but…" – on the catwalk then, the spotlight slipping into a blue shade, "Now that it's done…"  
  
He stopped, a wicked smirk touching his lips, "I hope you don't mind. I hope you don't mind…" a step, two… "—that I put down in words… how wonderful life is…" And he reached the end of the runway, the gathering of people catching their breath, "Now you're in the world…" And he was gone in an instant, dissolved in sudden blackness… Drums kicked in along with trumpets, knocking Satine mostly from her trance. How could a [man] be so beautiful?  
  
The rest of the brightly cast montage was painfully centered around him, the surreal character with a voice like velvet and undertones of sinful indulgence that had her mouth going dry. She blushed fiercely. He and the owner disappeared during an instrumental break in the song.  
  
Toulouse leaned forward after they took a booth, "I've arranged a private meeting with you and Christian. Totally alone…"  
  
"Alone?" she cried. How could she handle *THAT* alone?!  
  
And all commotion ceased and all eyes were on her, the spotlight having followed him there and now stood right beside her, an extended hand, "My lady, may I have this dance?"  
  
She felt her mind go blank and her body kick into hyper-drive as she unconsciously put a gloved hand in his and he pulled her up with surprising gentleness, placing them flush together. She could have moaned, but bit it off just in time as arms came around her and sweet sweat mingled with other scents barraged her. She was lost in his eyes, she was lost in his embrace, the rhythm of his heart and the feel of him against her, his breath brushing her cheek as they danced to the lurid symphony.  
  
"I'm glad you have taken interest in our little show," he spoke, dipping her, being exposed to her white throat for a lingering span of time before he righted her.  
  
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she strove for something productive to say and blurted, "Toulouse thought we could do it in private."  
  
"Oh, did he?" he looked stunning when the amusement trickled into his mood ring eyes.  
  
"Yes, a private poetry reading."  
  
"Poetry?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Ohhh…" his voice went to cream on gravel as he leaned to her ear, "I like a little poetry."

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[**Author Note**: And why I stopped here, no one can say for sure. It's a shock you read it. I haven't even gotten around to fine-tuning even this small portion. Forgive any grammar/spelling errors.]


End file.
